It was a hot start of a typical, summer day. I squished the sleepiness from my eyes with the fingers of my hand as I let out a satisfying squeak of a yawn to start the morning. There I stood, in front of my home, on top of the slightly dead grass of a lawn that I was trying to raise back from the dead. As I waved the nozzle back and forth across the yellow blades of grass, I spotted a white, medium sized dog slowly coming down the sidewalk, jaunting along happily with its tongue out and tail wagging. Sigh, typical these days, I thought. Another dog off its leash, its owner probably ten feet behind it, eyes glued to a phone.

Whatever. This would not ruin my Zen morning as I slowly turned my attention back to the soft, melodic music playing on my headphones. I loved my mornings. It was quiet time that I enjoyed with a bit of coffee, music, and the smell of early freshness that’s been brushed by the rays of sunrise. As I looked down to observe the little dandelions sprinkled throughout my mosaic lawn, I heard a garbled human voice break through my veil of coziness. My face scrunched up as I shifted my headphones off of my head, wondering if I was imagining the voice, or if it was part of the song. My eyes didn’t see anything of note, so I decided that my mind was playing tricks on me first thing in the morning. As I went to readjust my headphones back onto my ears, I heard it more clearly, “Have you seen a white dog?!” I depressed the nozzle, the water instantly stopping, the hose stiffening with the pressure. I waded off my lawn onto the sidewalk to see an elderly lady coming down the road, looking very frazzled and out of breathe. “Have you seen a white dog?! It’s very friendly!” Of course it is. Every dog off its leash is the friendliest, fluffiest, bestest dog. That’s why it’s off its leash, refusing to come back to its owner, despite screams, pleads and squeals to “get back here!”

I had a wave of a mixed emotions. My morning was disrupted, my lawn barely wet, coffee getting colder by the second, and the music stopped. However, an elderly lady stood up the way, looking clearly desperate and exasperated by her situation. I took a deep, inhaling breath and forced my heart to warm up through sheer determination. People are mean these days I reminded myself; don’t be one of them. The pandemic broke a lot of people’s brains and sense of togetherness, it didn’t break yours, I repeated to myself. I am a good person…I am a good person…I am a good person…

“He’s very friendly!” she said again, her voice trailing off as the relief of seeing another person finally hit her awareness. “Could you please help me? He won’t come back to me because he knows he’s going back on the leash. He’s very friendly! His name is Zeek.” My face flashed a brief smirk at the name. I enjoy a good dog name. People that name their dogs human names like Tom or Susie are weird to me. Yes, I will judge you if you do that. It’s my nature to. It’s human nature. People judge others all the time. It’s called inner monologue, processing, determining whether it’s safe to engage with you, or to turn around and pretend you’re a whisper in the wind.

“It’s hiding underneath the car,” I responded, just as the dog decided that it no longer wanted to be there. “Can you see if you can grab it? It’s very fr…” I decided to tune her out at this point, fully turning my attention to the dog, half bemused by the situation, half smiling at the tenacity of the dog. If I was a dog, I’d run away too! The freedom of exploration, the mysteries of the neighborhood, the yearning to mark my territory everywhere I can, the endless possibilities of not being a human.

I slowly approached the dog, it ran away, saw its owner, ran back towards me, stopped, sniffed, ran away towards its owner, stopped, rinse, repeat. After what could’ve only been a minute or two, it stopped in front of my neighbor’s apple tree, lifted its hind leg, and marked it. With a sense of pride and fulfillment, it walked two feet away from the tree, plopped down on the lawn, did its little dog yawn and tongue roll then just sat there, content.

“Good boy Zeek” I spoke softly as if I was a dog whisperer. I’m not. It sat there. I decided it was safe to approach. It was “very friendly” after all. As my left hand slowly reached out to pet it, my right hand made its way to its collar. “Good dog” I said, as my thoughts screamed “Don’t bite me! You’re very friendly!” As my left hand finally brushed soft, dog fur, my right hand grasped hard, leather collar. I looked at the dog, it’s eyes seemingly saying, “did you see that! that was fun!” You are a dog after all. What was anybody expecting when you let a dog off its leash?

The elderly lady finally caught up to us, thanking me profusely for helping catch her dog. I left my warm heart on, smiled, and greeted her “No problem. It’s a very friendly dog.”